Opaque
by Gorish
Summary: In 1981, a savior was proclaimed. In 1984 a vow was made. In 1985 the death that came would change their fate. Hadrian Potter, from childhood to adult, was a mystery to the world - a creature of silence and secrets. But with an impending war, and his hero of a younger brother, he must soon decide which holds more value: his search for power, or his brother's life. Slash. Twin BWL
1. I

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Harry Potter and this will apply to my later chapters though I choose not to reiterate. Also, I owe much due thanks to the wonderful authors who had inspired this story. Though the theme of a different twin Potter being hailed as the Boy-Who-Lived has been done and outplayed, I felt inclined to dabble in it whilst I still have the time. Hopefully – if my interest in this story latest longer than a few chapters – it will do well and will provide a different, if not darker, tale you as the readers will appreciate.

**Author's Note**: _Opaque_ was inspired by Antithesis by Wind Whisperer and Invisible by DebsTheSlytherinSnapefan. My intention, of course, is not to plagiarize from either of these stories, but rather to try a new spin on an old design. This is a Work In Progress and as thus I am not 100% certain of how perfectly the plot will play out, how canon the characters will remain, and the overall new design of Wizarding World. Chapters will be posted immediately when I have finished them – please excuse any punctuations, grammar, spelling, and all other minor mistakes I will make without a Beta.

**Warning**: Slash (nothing too graphic but a major plot component) attempted rape, mentions of child abuse / neglect, death (both major and minor characters), incest (not until much later), violence and gore. If you were, or still are, expecting moments of fluff I sincerely ask that you do not read much further than this – this story is layered around a dark theme, murder and manipulation, death and sexual relationships between same sex members, and of course angst. And more angst, and even more angst. So much, I fear, that there might not even be a happy ending. Anyway, I hope you enjoy, and please remember to review.

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**I**

**.**

"_Under all speech that is good for anything there lies a silence that is better, Silence is deep as Eternity; speech is shallow as Time."_

—Thomas Carlyle

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**.**

_Prelude _

The night was wet and windy, air moist with rain from hours before as small children ran around the square, their parents in tow. Throughout the streets of the small cottage town, shop windows were covered in paper spiders, bats, and webs; plastic skeletons, and flimsy tombs dotted the lawns of homes as children ran from home to home, each echoing a cry of "Trick or treat" and receiving amused laughter and drops of candy. And it was on this Hallows Eve night in which he appeared.

A disquieting silence followed where he treaded, as well as darkness so profound that it extended out, grasping onto the once dark crimson sky and painting it indigo. Mothers, anxious to remove their children from this sudden chill of black, removed themselves and their little ones from the streets, returning to their homes with little thought to the strange figure that had stepped into their now quiet streets. He fingered the handle of his wand, a thrum of power and purpose exuding from him as he glided along the street, moving closer toward his destination.

As he neared, he felt the wards surrounding the small cottage flicker and waver, cracking beneath the proximity of his power. His white hand pulled out the wand beneath his cloak, giving only the barest of movement to remove the Fidelius Charm that had been placed over the home. The gate creaked little as he pushed it open and neared the entrance door, a stout black figure rushing past the living space window. Locks clicked and the door whispered open, his eyes sliding down to the face of a hunched over man. "Have they gone, Wormtail?" he inquired softly, voice high and cold, as chilling as the darkness that stalked his footsteps.

The man, proclaimed to be Wormtail, nodded his head quickly, bloodshot and wide eyes darting around, as if expecting the return of the owners' of the home without notice. "T-they went to a meeting . . . with D-Dumbledore," he stammered out, sidestepping to allow the looming figure entrance into the quaint home.

"And when will they return?" he asked quietly already making way to the staircase. A hand grazed over the banister as he smoothly made his way to the second floor, bypassing the motionless portraits and first two closed doors. Outside the third he stopped, listened.

"B-by midnight, milord," Wormtail sniffed, shuffling uneasily behind his guest.

He made no inclined of acknowledge to this news as he opened the door before him with a small flick of his wand. It hissed open, and the two men stepped into the room. The room was painted a pale azure, the ceiling charmed with the white clouds and a golden snitch that flew in and out of view. He spared the remaining interior design of the nursery a glance, eyes focusing onto the white crib centered in the room; and in turn, drew the attention of the two children who had awoken upon hearing the door opening.

They, who had been expecting the smiling faces of their returning parents, looked at him with mixed confusion and unhappiness. One, who bore hazel eyes and dark hair neither black nor red, begun to cry when he realized the man before him was a stranger – a wailing cry that would cause this strange man to feel a bout of annoyance for he himself could never stomach the whining of little children. And so, he raised his wand and aimed it toward the wailing child, intent of silencing this pest of a being when the other child moved to grab onto his whimpering brother's hand in comfort.

But he could not – he could do not but stare at this small child who had taken its brother into chubby arms to comfort. Vibrant green eyes stared at him, interested as to his presence, but silent still. His lips curled into a sneer, the tip of his wand pressing into the forehead of the child whose focused gaze led him to believe that this was the _one._

"_Avada Kedavra_."

The green light washed the room in its blazing light, illuminating the crib, glaring off the painted walls like a strike of lightening. And he broke. Torn from flesh and bone, broken so deeply that he knew not what comfort of death was – he only knew of pain for that was all he had become; pain and terror. He screamed in agony, a shriek so horrid that it reacted to his destructive magic, and as he broke further so did his surroundings. There were screams outside of his scream; screams of a child, screams of a fear. But no, no he could not stay here long, he must hide himself . . . flee.

He no longer was human, no longer a being of breath and flesh, and so he fled out the window, away from the home that was crumbling and burning to its knees.

Wormtail, cowering in a corner, watched as the shapeless black figure of smoke vanished from sight. Chips of burnt wood from above flew near his feet, reminding him that he remained in a home that had been set ablaze; that would soon collapse and take him along with it. He rose shakily to his feet, turning to flee for his own sake when the cries of two children reached his ears. He paused, looked back, and winced. Watery hazel eyes stared at him with such fear, confusion, and _innocence_; he could not leave them here to die. Could not . . .

Hastily pulling out his wand, Wormtail uttered a shaky repellent charm on the two children, shielding them from the scorch of the approaching flames before vanishing just as his master had done.

By themselves, the two children continued to voice their displeasure with the turn of events of the night, crying for the parents who still had not become aware of the dangers their children remained in. It would not be until the stroke of midnight till Lily and James Potter would make their appearance back into Godric's Hollow, and, upon finding their home in a state of near debris and ruin, sent off alerts to the other members of the Order of the Phoenix. Their fears and assumptions of the worse happening to their children would soon be put to rest as they, and Albus Dumbledore, would find the twins asleep in their shared crib.

While the parents fanned over their children, relieved to see that no harm had come to them, Dumbledore had made note not to mention the lack of appearance of Peter Pettigrew till all had settled, though there still remained to be pressing matters at hand. He watched as Lily handled her youngest son, Charlus, in her arms, cooing down at the sleepy-eyed babe, and James gently petted the hair of their sleeping eldest, Hadrian. It ached him, truly and sorely, to bring an end to their family reunion after such a near loss of both children the couple would have suffered, but unlike the situation with Pettigrew, he could not in all good conscious wait for a more appropriate time to approach for what was at hand.

"Lily, James," he began in a steady, calming voice that befitted his image of a serene senesce man. The couple stared at him, a rigid tension in their shoulders as though they expected harsher news or danger to come. "We had known that this day would come," he continued," that Voldemort would attack your household in hopes of eliminating your children, but in that task he had failed."

"A blessing," murmured James, a hand reaching out to grab onto his wife's as they shared a small smile.

"A true blessing indeed," Dumbledore said with a faint nod of agreement. "But with his defeat also comes a savior to our world, my boy – a hero who will rival Voldemort in all aspects and power."

Lily furrowed her brows, looking down into her child's sleep ridden hazel eyes. Exhausted eyes blinked up at her, wet with tears, and her heart gave a wrench. She had almost lost her baby, her little precious one. She pressed a kiss to his round cheek. "My little lion," she breathed out quietly. "Mummy is so proud of you."

"He is a survivor indeed," Dumbledore substituted. "Him, as well as his brother, but only _one_ child possess the power that will fully vanquish Voldemort in the years to come."

"Albus, are you saying that he will return?" Lily asked, horrified at the prospect of her children facing Dark Lord for a second, and final time. She shuddered away from the thought, clutching tighter onto her now sleeping son.

A grave expression marred the face of the ancient wizard, dulling the usual twinkle of warmth in his bright blue eyes. He peered at them solemnly through this half-moon spectacles, his silence speaking for him. Lily and James exchanged a look, uncomfortable with thoughts of the impending future for one of their children. Finally, Lily asked the most potent of all questions to come: "How will we know which one of the boy's is the rightful savior to the Wizarding world?"

"That alone is simple," Dumbledore said with a quiet note of musing, his eyes trained on the child in Lily's arms. "It was Charlus, was it not, who was born near the seventh months end?" At their nod of, he continued. "Then it he whom the prophecy bespoke of. It is _he_ who will be the salvation our world has long awaited for."

Lily, torn between looking slightly dubious at his words, and relieved as he bid them a goodnight, turned to her husband for comfort, both their gazes settled onto the sleeping child between them. They cared not for the prophecy that had nearly lost them their children forever, no they only cared that the dangers of the Dark Lord and his followers had vanished and they were free to rebuild their family life. And, for the first time in many years, the Wizarding world celebrated the taste of freedom and joy for the first time and with this jubilant festive display that consumed the United Kingdom, so would they all raise their goblets upward and murmur a praise: "To Charlus Potter – the Boy-Who-Lived."

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**.**

**1985**

**Godric's Hollow **

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_Chapter One _

It was a marvelous summer day, the sun shining high up in the clear skies and a pleasant London breeze bringing some comfort against the heat. Far off there was the sound of children enjoying their playtime in the backyard of their homes, the buzz of insects and hum of scare traffic creating a homely, familiar, background noise.

And he stood amongst a sea of black. It pressed against him on either side, a swarm of shrouded figures with concealed faces who whispered words of comfort and sobbed with tight throats. He stared at them with a stolid expression, untouched by their attempts to provide condolence, only nodding in bare acknowledgement to their words for his eyes and mind were not on these nameless folk – it was on the child crying kneeling before him.

His lip curled in annoyance. He hated the sniveling whines of other children, how they would scrunch up their faces and release those harsh wails of displeasure. It was _unnecessary_ to cry in this case of any other because crying will not change anything. But how would he go about saying that? With so many people watching him, waiting for his share of tears for the tragedy that had befallen his family, how was he supposed to react when he cared not for the creating a show of tears?

A sigh left him, quiet, and easily mistaken for a solemn acceptance for what has happened despite his age. Ignoring the watchful, if not curious, eyes upon him he made his way over to the sobbing child, crouching beside him with care to not get his clothing dirty and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Stop crying," he said softly, keeping the demand from his voice as well as the irritation that was rising within him. Watery hazel eyes stared at him, the white's rimmed red. He shook his head, eyes smoothly taking in the distraught appearance of his young sibling. Pulling out the handkerchief a young witch had given to him, he wiped the oozing snot from the hazel-eyed child's nose, rolling his own eyes as the boy sniffed. _"Honestly_," he muttered, standing up and patting away nonexistent dirt.

Those eyes would not leave him. They stared and stared, crippled and seeking the comforting of another. He narrowed his own eyes, placing a hand lightly onto the mass of unruly dark brown hair. "It'll be fine," he said. "_We'll_ be fine."

"B-but. . . M-mum and D-ad. . ." the sentence died away with a fight of hiccupping sobs, a fresh stream of tears rolling down the round cheeks.

"Are gone, and nothing will change that."

"B-but—"

"They're gone, Charlus, and they won't be coming back."

Charlus Potter, the hailed to be Boy-Who-Lived, the child who could not remember a thing from that night four years before stared up at his elder twin with pain no child his age should be burdened with. His brother, Hadrian, continued to look down at him with those hard, bright green eyes – their mother's eyes and he cried again because he knew, _just knew_, that his brother was right and that their mother and father would never be coming back, and it upset him because he didn't _know _where they had gone off too without either of them.

"Stop crying already," Hadrian Potter hissed softly, fingers twisting into the locks of his young brother, warranting a cry of pain from the other before he drew back his hand quickly when the adults around them glanced over. "Now listen here, Charlus," he said quietly, leaning closer to his brother to whisper into his ear, "crying will not change anything. It will not bring them back, so rather than sitting there and behaving like an idiot, act like the _savior_ the world thinks you are."

Charlus sniffed, hurt by the harsh words that left the mouth of his brother, but nonetheless wiped his tears with the offered handkerchief. Hadrian, unbothered by the sharp, if not cruel, words that he used upon his young sibling went rigid at the approach of the last man he desired to see at this moment. He need not to turn around to know who was gliding toward them, for the magic that he released, that pure, suffocating presence of _light_, made him aware that the man that now stood behind him was none other than Albus Dumbledore.

Hadrian composed himself, biting back the sneer that threatened to twist his features as he fluidly turned around to face the aged man. Tall and wispy, Albus Dumbledore was a sight for sore eyes to many wizards and witch's gathered with his waist length silver beard and hair, flowing robes of the most curious of design, and brilliant blue eyes that often twinkled with a grandfatherly light behind half-moon spectacles. To those around, his appearance may have been comforting and unsurprising as the old wizard had a fondness for the Potter family, but to Hadrian he was an unwelcomed intruder.

He smiled though, a soft gentle grin, and stood between his brother and the seemingly frail headmaster of Hogwarts. "Headmaster Dumbledore, I did not think you would come," he said softly, hand outstretched for a brief shake that lasted for too long for his liking. "Though thank you for making an appearance. I'm sure my parents wouldn't have had it any other way."

A solemn look filled Dumbledore's irises, his withered hands still clasped tightly onto Hadrian's as he stared down at the young boy with a forlorn smile. "It was such tragic news to hear of their death" he said in a tone of deep grievances, "but more so too you both, to have lost both parents."

"They died bravely to defend their children," Hadrian said, slipping his hand away from the man's grasp. "And for that, they deserve to be remembered for the life they had lived, and not the death they had died."

"True words indeed." Dumbledore paused to chuckle softly, and gazed off into the distance as though recalling a fond memory before the shift of movement behind the tall boy drew his eye. He smiled, looking over Hadrian's shoulder to his still crouched sibling, Charlus. "Ah, Charlus, my boy, how are you doing?"

The boy gave a sniff, standing slowly to his feet as though remembering that he was still on the ground and looked up at the wizard before him. He remembered Dumbledore from the many times the Hogwarts headmaster had visited their homes, and the ways his parents had spoken so highly of him. He gave the man a nod, absently reaching out to grasp the back of his twin's black robes, thankful that Hadrian, though the same age as him, was taller and thus shielded him from the burrowing eyes of the headmaster.

"Excuse my brother," Hadrian drawled out, putting a hand to his brother's side to further conceal him from the prying eyes of the aged wizard. "He's terribly shy and the loss of our parents had further added to this."

"Understandable," Dumbledore said with a nod, a light frown marking his forehead. There was a stretched of silence, the trio left to themselves as those around them begin to wander off to talk amongst themselves. At last Dumbledore cleared his throat. "My attendance here today was, in all truth, brought upon the realization that the two of you would be in need of guardianship till you have come of age, and as such I had arranged for you both to live with your mother's sister and her family—"

"Pardon my interruption, _Sir_, but how did you come by being allowed to make such decisions for us?" Hadrian asked, a fridge edge to his voice as his eyes narrowed.

Dumbledore frowned down at the sable haired boy, noting the light sneer drawing at his lips. His expression remained stoic as he spoke, "With the death of your parents, and the disappearance of your will intended guardian, Sirius Black, the only remaining and logical choice was to house you with your Muggle Aunt Petunia and her husband."

The name, Petunia, meant not a thing to Charlus but whoever she was, this aunt of theirs, must have not been a favorite person of his brother's for Hadrian's face to twist into a nasty snarl. Charlus stared at his brother's open expression, surprised and scared at how different Hadrian looked when he was mad. That twisted snarl on his face lasted only a few seconds but it was enough to put Charlus off and bring a new light into the eyes of Dumbledore.

Hadrian exhaled slowly, bringing a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose as he thought but even he knew that he had been cornered. As a minor, being only five, the guardianship of him and his brother would be passed off to whomever was listed onto the will of their deceased parents. His mother had, once, spoken to him of her disquieting feeling that their time together was nearing an end. Even now he could recall her words, the _promise_ that she had made him take even though he was a child.

Charlus tugged onto the sleeve of Hadrian's robes. "What about Uncle Moony?" he asked, referring to Remus Lupin, a friend of their late parents and a godfather to them both.

"Yes, Sir, what about Remus?" Hadrian asked sharply, meeting the darkened stare of Dumbledore.

"He has been deemed unfit to raise children by the Ministry," Dumbledore answered evenly.

"On what grounds?"

"His status as a werewolf."

"I understand then," he said slowly. "Has our Muggle relatives been informed of your _arrangement_?"

"They are expecting you late this evening," Dumbledore supplied with a smile, reaching out to pat Hadrian on the shoulder. "I know you and your relatives have never seen eye-to-eye, but I am certain this will work itself out for the better."

"Of course, Sir," Hadrian said dryly, the corner of his mouth dropping into sour line before he gave a tight-lipped smile and inclined his head to the senesce man. "If you'll excuse us, headmaster, my brother and I should go and give our thanks to those who came today. Come on, Charlus." Grabbing onto his gob smacked brother's hand, Hadrian threw Dumbledore a smile over the shoulder as he walked them away. "Always a pleasure to see you, Sir."

"The same to you both," Dumbledore echoed.

Hadrian ignored the eyes intent on burning holes into the back of his head, tugging his brother along and trying to snuff away the seething, boiling anger burning in his veins. That man – how he loathed Albus Dumbledore with a white-hot passion, His nails dug into the tender flesh of his brother's wrist, producing a yelp of complaint from the younger which Hadrian brushed off as he pulled them away from the prying eyes of the adults.

"That hurt you jerk!" Charlus yelled, smacking at his brother's hand and sniffing.

"Shut up," Hadrian snarled out, grabbing onto his twin's slender wrist as he gave the smaller boy a shake. "For once shut up and listen very closely to me."

"Stop shaking me then!"

Vibrant emerald irises stale-locked with bright hazel, both boys' breathing hard and fuming. Hadrian released his brother with a sneer, biting onto the pad of his thumb as he allowed his twin a moment to collect himself before speaking. "Stay away from Dumbledore, Charlus," he warned.

"Why should I? He's nice and he's only – "

"Don't you dare believe that that man is looking out for us. His intentions are falser then the persona he wears."

"But – "

"For once in your life just listen to me!"

Charlus was torn between yelling at his brother and keeping quiet, so instead he settled for staring broodingly at the ground. "Fine," he mumbled. "I won't talk to him."

And with that the discussion of Albus Dumbledore was put to rest; for that moment anyhow. For the remainder of the few hours they had in the Wizarding world, Hadrian stood beside him brother, a hand meant for comfort on his shoulder as they walked from witch to wizard, accepting their sympathy and giving their thanks for their attendance to the funeral of Lily and James Potter. It would not be till near the stroke of midnight that Dumbledore would portkey them to the quiet, sleeping community of Privet Drive and deliver them to their relatives, the Dursley's.

That night, as he laid beside his brother in their shared twin bed, unable to sleep or forget the screams of death, the laughter of murder, and the promise he had made a year before, Hadrian found himself clinging gently to his snoring brother, face twisted into a grimace as he fought back the demons entitled nightmares.


	2. II

**Update Note**: I sincerely apologize for the late publication of chapter two. I had planned on finishing the chapter by Sunday night, and uploading it on Monday of this week but due to numerous inconveniences. However, that it is inexcusable to make you all wait so long, so once more I apologize. I also am quite sorry for the shortness of this chapter. I had been aiming for at least 4k but it just wouldn't come to be. Anyway, with that in, enjoy.

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**II **

**.**

"_Come what come may, time and the hour run through the roughest day." _  
― William Shakespeare, _Macbeth_

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In her many years of life Petunia Dursley had come to accept much, sometimes begrudgingly so. She had, after some time, accepted that her deceased sister was of abnormal blood and she was not. She had conceited that her son, though she loved and dotted on him terribly so, was becoming the spitting image of her husband – a man she had married young, and learned to never love truly. But, like any other woman of good standing, Petunia maintained an appearance that neither aroused suspicion or scandal. She, in the eyes of her neighbors, was a good woman; a loving mother, and a devoted wife. Yet, with all that she done to distance herself from a world unlike her manicured lifestyle, circumstances arose and she found herself a ward to two children.

Hadrian and Charlus – her sisters' children and her nephews by no choice of her own. Many times Petunia had considered, extensively, putting the children into an adoption agency and wiping her hands clean of them and the madness they would bring into her family's life. Had it not been for that damnable old man and his quiet threats, she would ridden herself of them years before and returned to a world she was familiar and content with.

But no, Petunia had not been given such a luxurious option. Instead her hand had been forced into a ploy she never conceived to come to light and now was raising three children and a temperamental husband.

Petunia sighed, shoulders sagging a fraction before she straightened her posture and resumed her vigorous scrubbing of the breakfast plates, determined to put all thought of those boys and impending trouble they would being into her household. However, the more she fought to put them from her mind, the quicker her thoughts spiraled back onto them. Petunia remembered that night nearly six years ago when they had been brought over, right after the burial of her sister and her husband, and even now as she stared into the soapy water she felt as though she was relieving that terrible flaw in fate all over again; something she quickly shook off and went back to the task at hand.

Her thoughts could not be so easily shooed away.

They were an odd pair, those two; so odd indeed that Petunia hadn't seen how they could have been twins – or even born from the same mother. Charlus, the smallest, reminded her of her deceased sister in personality and the light of curiosity that touched his eyes when he first stepped foot into her home. For a second, as she stared at him, Petunia had saw a flick of her young sister and her heart had given a sharp ache of something close to nostalgia. She ignored it of course, and him, and turned her attention to the eldest. Tall for his age and standing with a grace incongruous with children his age, Petunia had felt not a sliver of her sister or her mischievous husband in that boy – wariness, however, was something she did feel when his eyes had settled onto her.

The hated and disgust that had burned his verdant eyes as he looked upon her chilled Petunia to the bone. Neither her husband or the childrens escort had noticed, but she had and till this day the coldness in his eyes – _her_ sisters eyes – made the blonde woman unwilling to step near the boy. He frightened her, not that Petunia would outwardly admit that, but she had made it clear to both her husband and son that they were not to be bothered with. This demand of hers, of course, had many consequences to it. Her husband, Vernon, grew ever more short-tempered, and her son, Dudley, made it is primary mission to ridicule his cousins.

_Freak._

Yes, that was what Dudley called his strange little cousins. A term Petunia is bitterly familiar with for her own tongue had lashed out insults such as those in her youth. Blinking slowly and shaking her head as another sigh left her, Petunia unclogged the sink and watched as water drained. She still had much cleaning left; the living room needed to be vacuumed; the bedrooms swept and beds made; clothing picked off floors; laundry done and bathroom scrubbed. Wiping her hands onto the hand rag she kept in the counter drawers, Petunia set to work on her daily housework, wanting to be finished in time to being dinner.

As she made her way upstairs, Petunia slowed to a crawl pace as she passed her nephew's shared bedroom. Once it had been Dudley's spare room for his toys, but upon their hastily announced moving in, it had been replaced with two twin beds (which caused a dispute between Vernon and Petunia) a wardrobe and an old desk table, chair, and bookcase.

The door to the room was wide open, giving Petunia insight to the room she no longer stepped into since their coming here, and her eyes latched onto the children inside. Charlus Potter, hair an untameable dark brown, was on his stomach of the wooden floor, going through a stack of Dudley's old preparatory books with a look of complete boredom on his face.

"Harry, this man just slayed a dragon for a girl," he said, tapping the picture on the page with his index finger. "Doesn't he know that dragons are an endangered species?"

"No, he wouldn't seeing as it is a Muggle fairytale," was the murmured reply, drawing Petunia's attention away from Charlus long enough to stare into the face of her other nephew.

Hadrian Potter was a handsome child, there was no doubt about it and even Petunia could concede that he was. Nearing his eleventh age, Hadrian was taller than the last time Petunia had laid eyes upon him; he had a crown of hair of deep black that framed a purely patrician face, and skin as fair as his hair was dark. Yet of all his eerie beauty, it was still his eyes that made Petunia's insides squirm. Those eyes that were so bright, so intense, that it both stole her breath and made her want to flee from sight.

As she watched him, Charlus flipped onto another page of his book, mumbling, "When do you think our Hogwarts letters will get here?"

"Soon," Hadrian said with a close of the dusty tome he had been in the midst of reading.

It was then that their eyes would meet. Petunia, shock written onto her face, stepped back as his eyes sliced into her. The corner of his pale lips rose into a sneer, and even before she could react, the door slammed with a jarring force that warranted a cringe of fear from Petunia and a muffled yelp from Charlus. Petunia placed her hand over her shuddering heart, unable to move as her knees knocked together.

Oh how she regretted ever allowing that _child_ into her home.

**. **

**. **

The night was disquieting as the town of Little Whinging slept, oblivious. Overhead, churning gray clouds obscured stars that would otherwise illuminate the darkness, a darkness that was indeed so profound that not much was distinguishable. The few trees aligning sidewalks groaned as harsh winds tore at their branches and rustled their leaves, their inky silhouettes swaying where they stood in dance to the sinister tune constituted by the impending storm. The creaking of buildings were lost amidst the din of the approaching storm, the air electrifying and expelling the discomforting scent of ozone.

Such was the nature of the night when the man materialized within the shadow of an especially large maple tree. He stood where he appeared for a mere second before breaking into stride, crossing the street and heading north. The homes he passed seemed to hold their breaths, daring not to utter an indication that life resided behind their blackened windows. Though this he chose to ignore as he turned a corner, entering into the street of an immaculately kept community. Identical homes resided on either side, curtains drawn over black windows, and vehicles resting in their drives. Not a thing seemed out of place in Privet Drive, though this description of serene perfection and normality did not apply to this bizarre man who strode up the street.

Nothing like this man had ever been spotted in Privet Drive, and so it was a fair amount of luck that none of the residence were awake to see him. Dressed in a long robe and purple traveling cloak that swept the ground, his buckled heeled-boots clicked noisily against the gravel road. Tall and thin, his senescence was evident by the silver of his hair and beard, though the brightness of his blue eyes behind half-moon spectacles bespoke of power his frail body seemed not to hold. In all, the appearance of Albus Dumbledore in the little community was as suspicious as it was surprising.

The aged man slowed his lengthy strides into a leisure pace, bright eyes sweeping from one sleeping home to the next, only for a second, before locking on a particular home. Of all the houses of Privet Drive who's lights had long since been cut off and family put to rest, the sole light in the living area of number four would come as an annoyance, and surprise, of those who had been awake to see it. Albus made his way toward the lit house, nearing the small picket fence gate when he paused to the sound of a tapping cane and shuffled footsteps.

Albus turned, a smile of stretching across his face as the form of Arabella Figg appeared from the shadows of black. The woman was well past her middle ages, and with it came a hard line of exhaustion in her eyes, and a deeper gray to her hair. When she came to a stop before the man, Arabella, offered him a shrewd look. "Evening, Albus," she said in a clipped voice, not as pleased to see him as Albus was with her.

"Good evening, my dear Mrs. Figg," Albus said with a beaming smile. "A lovely night for a stroll, would you not agree?"

"Not in the slightest," Mrs. Figg sniffed, moving past him to step through the gate of the front lawn. "Honestly taking me away from my quiet evening to accompany you to the Dursley household of all places." Her nose wrinkled in slight disgust.

"Now, now," Albus chastised. "Vernon and Petunia are lovely folk."

Mrs. Figg snorted.

Giving a small chuckle, Albus raised his hand and knocked on the door, leaving both he and Mrs. Figg to wait for the home owners to allow them entrance. Whilst Mrs. Figg grumbled beneath her breath, Albus kept his smile firmly in place for he himself was rather excited to see how the children were fairing; or, more precisely, how Charlus was doing in his new environment.

Mrs. Figg glanced over at Albus, suspicious to the gleam of something troubling in his eyes. She opened her mouth to question his process of thought when the door opened. Mouth clamped shut and eyes hardened, Mrs. Figg looked over at Petunia Dursley with a small scowl. The woman, thin and pale with far too much neck, buttery blonde hair, and large blue eyes, had never been a favorite person of Mrs. Figg's seeing as the two never saw eye to eye.

"Petunia," Albus said, "a pleasure to always see you."

The woman glared over at him, biting onto the corner of her mouth as she stepped to the side to grant them entrance. Albus, nodding his head to her in thanks, gave the interior of the home a sweeping examination. Much as changed since his last visit six years before. Pictures adorning the wall of the staircase replaced with updated photographs of a growing child – none, which Albus noted, was of either Hadrian of Charlus. And, judging by the sour expression of Petunia's face, her dislike for magic has not wilted.

"It has been a long time since my last visit," Albus said, peering down at Petunia from the crook of his nose. "How are you fairing, dear girl?"

Petunia said nothing at all. Mrs. Figg did not doubt that speech would return to the other woman, but something – whatever it may be – about Albus had robbed her temporarily of her breath.

When she failed to say anything, Albus inclined his head toward the living room. "Shall we assume that you have kindly invited Mrs. Figg and I into your sitting room?"

Petunia gave a jerky nod of the head, wiping down her hands on her apron and making a hasty retreat into the kitchen. Mrs. Figg and Albus shared a look in which Mrs. Figg snorted and crossed into the sitting room where the large form of Vernon Dursley was pacing back and forth, and two children sat on the sofa, watching him.

Mrs. Figg herself had never seen the late Potter couples children – stories and speculations she had heard much of, but seeing them in person was a difference. Her brows shot upward, mouth parting into an 'o' of surprise. The smallest boy, dark brown haired and eyes bright hazel was grinning delightedly at the letter in his hand; the other child was handsome, tall for his age with sable hair so dark it seemed blue, and green eyes that watched the pacing Vernon with stoic interest. _Such beautiful children_, Mrs. Figg's thoughts, lips pursing as a bitterness swelled in her heart.

Once, she too, had wanted to have children; children whom she could love and would love her in return; children who would bring joy and meaning back into her life.

Giving a small shake of her head, Mrs. Figg turned her attention onto Albus. The feeling of suspicion earlier returned tenfold. That look in his eyes as he stared at the smallest child brought a twist of foreboding in Mrs. Figg's stomach. Looking back at the wide-eyed boy, Mrs. Figg felt the knot of unease swell. Whatever Dumbledore had planned for that boy could not be good.

Albus cleared his throat loudly to draw all eyes onto him. Hazel and green eyes zeroed in on the aged wizard and Mrs. Figg, while Vernon began to bristle with anger. His pacing came to a stop so he stood before Albus, beady eyes narrowed and face flushing violet with a simmering rage. Opening his mouth – and intent of bellowing his rage into the mans face – Vernon began with a "You have a lot of - "when Petunia stepped into the living room.

She looked to her husband, shook her head, and moved to sit him down on the armchair. While his breathing came in short intakes and glare remained firmly in place, Petunia turned to their unwanted guest. "Well," she said. "You've come. You've seen them – as you can tell they are in good health and being well taken care of."

"Is that why you're here, headmaster?' the smallest child asked, looking from Petunia to Albus. "I thought you've come to take us back?"

"Be a bloody blessing if that was the case," Vernon grumbled.

Albus, ignoring the mans input, looked to Charlus with a warm smile. "Ah, are you finding living without the wizarding world to not be in your favor, Charlus?" He asked with a light chuckle, moving closer to the boy and patting his narrow shoulder gently.

"No, headmaster," Charlus answered. "But, if you aren't here to take us back, why did you come here?"

"To see how you and your brother are fairing. How are you liking Privet Drive, Hadrian?"

All eyes turned onto the silent boy beside Charlus. "Well enough," was the quiet answer accompanied by a small smile that did not match the intensity of the stare directed at Albus.

"There, see. They're perfectly happy here," Petunia snapped. "Now if you wouldn't mind leaving my home - "

"My dear Petunia I came here for another reason as well," Albus interrupted with a dazzling smile her way. He turned his next words to the two children. "My boys, the school term begins in only two months. Are you excited?"

"Of course!" Charlus said while Hadrian gave a small nod.

"I'm glad to hear because Mrs. Figg's here had kindly offered to escort you both to Diagon Alley on the first of August."

Mrs. Figg cleared her throat. "Yes, I did," she echoed. "It will be an honor and a pleasure to reintroduce you both to the Wizarding world."

It was then, a moment after those rehearsed lines left her mouth that Mrs. Figg's found herself under the scrutinizing glare of Hadrian. Inwardly she cringed away in horror, wanting to hide herself from the stare that seemed to strip her off flesh and bone. Biting onto the corner of her mouth, both she and Albus were troubled by the words that left his sculpted mouth.

"In a due respect, _Mrs. Figg,_ but are you not a Squib? I highly doubt that yourself – if I may assume – have ever stepped into Diagon Alley." His eyes narrowed further. "Honestly, Sir, if you were planning on sending my brother and I off with an escort, as least make sure they aren't on the same footing as a Muggle."

"Harry," Charlus groaned quietly at his brothers side. "Can't you be nice?"

"I do agree with, Charlus. Hadrian that was a rather rude thing to say," Albus said with a frown. "Please, apologize."

"It's not necessary, Albus," Mrs. Figg sniffed. "Clearly the boy doesn't want me around him, and I won't stay where I'm not wanted. If he's so against my accompanying him and his brother to Diagon Alley then they're better off going by themselves."

"I'm rather fond of that suggestion," Hadrian drawled. He looked to his brother, placing a hand onto his shoulder. "What do you say, Charlus?"

"Er, ugh," the dark haired brunette looked from the sharp glare of his brother to the disapproving frown of Dumbledore. "Um, well, that sounds fine to me."

"Its settled then. My brother and I will go to Diagon Alley on our own on the first of August," Hadrian proclaimed.

Albus's frown deepened. "I do not think that is a wise decision – for either of you."

"We'll be fine," Hadrian said with a low smile, making no room for further discussion. He stood to his feet, pulling his brother along with him and moving closer to the door that led back into the hallway. "Always a pleasure to meet you, Sir."

"Bye, headmaster!" Charlus said before he was tugged out of the room by his arm.

For some time the four adults listened to the retreat of footsteps along the staircase and the click of a closing door, before Petunia snapped from her stupor and set to work on showing both Albus and Mrs. Figg from her home. Once they had left, she tended to her irate husband, working to put all thoughts of nights event from both their minds.

Left to their own, Albus and Mrs. Figg made their way back to the picket fence gate, both lost in thought as they left the affairs of number four, and the Potter children behind them. Together they walked back to Little Whinging, neither speaking for the longest of times before Mrs. Figg cleared her throat to ask, "Is that boy always like that?"

"I cannot say," Albus answered. "He had always been a strange one, that Hadrian. And so achingly similar to another young man I once knew."

Mrs. Figg pursued her lips. She knew who Albus meant, though she herself had never laid eyes on him. Shaking her head softly, she asked, "Do you think he will become an influence on his brother?"

Albus did not answer, simple bidding the woman, "Goodnight, Mrs. Figg" and heading his own way. Mrs. Figg made her way back to her home, mind a mess of thoughts and heart still shaking from the brief encounter with that boy.

Hadrian Potter. What a nightmare that child would become to the world she never had a chance to live within.

**.**

**.**

That night Charlus could not sleep. He was exhausted enough to fall asleep, but sleep itself evaded him. As he tossed and turned in his bed, damp hair sticking to his forehead, and eyes staring at the moonlit ceiling above him, Charlus found himself listening to the quiet breathing of his brother and replaying the nights events. He was somewhat upset that Dumbledore had only to check up on them and introduce their former escort to be, but he was also happy to see the man. Despite his brother's unexplainable dislike for Dumbledore, Charlus himself saw the man something close to a grandfather – a man who his parents looked up to.

Turning to his side to face his brother, Charlus watched as Hadrian's chest rose and fell before moving his eyes onto his parted mouth and shut eyes. It would be after a few minutes of watching him that Charlus finally sat upright in his bed, swung his legs from beneath his blanket, and removed himself from his bed. Slowly he padded over to his brother's bed, lifted the edge of his blanket, and crawled into the empty space at Hadrian's side.

"Go back to your own bed," was the quiet input to his action.

Charlus raised his head to stare into his brother's sleeping face. He shook his head and burrowed deeper into the warmth that exuded from Hadrian. "I can't sleep in it," he said.

"That's no excuse for climbing into mines," Hadrian breathed out with a sigh, but still he made no move to push his younger sibling away as Charlus curled against him, an arm draping over his side.

"Yes it is," Charlus countered.

"It isn't."

"It is."

"It isn't."

"Yes it is and you know it." There was a moment of silence, Charlus speaking a few seconds later after a quick consideration of his words. "Why were you mean to Mrs. Figg's earlier? It wasn't because she was a Squib, was it?" He frowned, sighed, and fiddled with hem of Hadrian's pajama shirt. "You're not like those Pureblood's dad talked about, right? Y'know the ones who judge people because of their blood and status."

"Go to sleep."

Charlus, scowling into the darkness, raised his head off his brother's shoulder to glare back into his face. Leaning in closer, he brought a hand up to brush back the waves of hair obscuring Hadrian's forehead and revealing the small, pale lightening shaped scar that was he hid from the world. "You're such a prat sometimes," Charlus mumbled, pressing a kiss to the scar before settling back into his brother's side.

Hadrian made a small noise in response.


	3. III

**Updater Note: **Once more, I must beseech you all for forgiveness on this horrid update lateness. I had originally planned on resuming my work of chapter 3 of _Opaque, _and chapter 4 of _Pawn _right after my exams but it just would not come to be. What should have been a momentary break to update all of my works turned into into inconveniencing late shifts at work and a bombard of work. And so, with little sleep and still writing at this ungodly hour, I do hope you enjoy the third installment of _Opaque._

* * *

**III **

**. **

___That patient merit of the unworthy takes,_

___When he himself might his quietus make_

― William Shakespeare, ___Hamlet_

**.**

**. **

The arrival of August the first brought down a force that had never before been present within the Dursley household. Half furious and half terrified, Vernon Dursley had raged in the early hours of morning without regard for the thoughts of the neighbors, and try as she might, Petunia could not calm her husband. As Vernon paced up and down the kitchen, snarling and condemning the very children who sat before them, Petunia watched him with weariness through the corner of her eye as she scrubbed away at the breakfast dishes. It had been this way ever since the Headmaster visited their home, and though the sight of anything as abnormal as Albus Dumbledore left Vernon in miniscule fits never before had it been this bad. Though, if she was to be honest, it was not the very words leaving her husband that made Petunia feel unease, but rather the dark eyes that were watching him. Hadrian, silent as ever, eyed Vernon with a look that could only be comparable to murderous intent; and Petunia feared that hellfire itself would befall on her husband if he did not mind his tongue soon.

"Listen here you," sneered Vernon as he came to a halt before the two boys and jabbed a thick finger between them both. "We've been good folk to you – feed your ungrateful arses for all these years, kept clothes on your back, and gave you a roof to sleep under but I will be damned if I ever allowed you lot to continue to live in my home and doing _freakish _things."

"I doubt you have any choice in the matter, _Uncle_," was the quiet response Petunia had anticipated. Through her peripheral vision she saw a flush of violet rising in Vernon's cheeks, a sure sign that his already short fuse was growing even shorter. "With things being as they are, we are stuck with the likes of you until we've come of age. So regardless on how you feel about the _freakish _things we may bring into your home, we will not be leaving this house for another six years."

"You've got a lot of nerve you damn -!"

"Vernon," silence struck the air at the sound of Petunia's voice, and for a second even Petunia herself was in shock at the hardness of her own voice. Wiping her hands clean of water and soap sud on her apron, she turned to face the three pairs of eyes that had locked onto her. "The boy is right," she continued, addressing her husband rather then the children themselves. "Our hand has been forced into the matter of caring for them until they've come of age. Until then it will be in the best interest of us all to steer clear of one another or to learn to live with our _differences._"

"My my, intelligence does exist in the Dursley household." Petunia flickered her eyes onto her eldest nephew, Hadrian, and her lips tightened with sourness at the mockery. While Vernon struggled to speak through his angry stutters, Charlus was shaking his head in disapproval to the choice of tone his brother had used on their relatives.

"Harry," Charlus said with a frown, "don't be mean. Aunt Petunia is just trying to stop us all from fighting with one another, and I think she's got a good idea."

Hadrian made a low noise in the back of his throat.

Charlus, sighing a little, turned away from his brother to direct his next words at Petunia. "Would you mind driving us down to London?" he asked, and – upon seeing the flash of confused surprise in Petunia's eyes – rushed into his next words. "The only way for us to get to Diagon Alley is through the entrance wall at the Leaky Cauldron."

"Rubbish," Vernon muttered. "All a bunch of sodding rubbish if you ask me."

Both Petunia and Charlus gave Vernon a quick look, then Hadrian himself who appeared to have wanted to say something on the matter. Charlus gave his elder brother a silencing glare, which Hadrian returned with a scoff and sneer, and returned his attention to Petunia as she gave a slow nod of agreement. "How long will you be taking?" She inquired.

"An hour or two I suppose," Charlus estimated. 'Just enough to get all the things on our school supplies list."

"You're not getting any money off us!" Vernon snapped up immediately, quickly assuming that the funding for the boys school item would come from his own pockets.

"As if they would accept Muggle pounds," Hadrian drawled out.

Once more Vernon stuttered through a bout of angry words and his fingers curled into meaty fist. He had taken one step toward the stone faced boy when Petunia placed a hand on his chest. "Pet," Vernon began, and Petunia gave a jerky shake of the head.

"Don't," she breathed out, eyes wide and written with fear. "Don't do anything to that boy, Vernon. He's not – I mean, he's not -" Petunia trailed off with a low, shaky breath. "Just, keep away from him and his brother, alright? They are not worth the trouble we'd bring upon us if anyone was to catch word of any form of harm coming to them."

"But - "

"No, Vernon. Leave them be."

Still very much purple in the face, Vernon gave his wife a withered snarl and stomped out of the kitchen in a manner Petunia was more accustomed to seeing in her son when he could not get his way. Now, finding herself alone with two peculiar boys, Petunia cleared her throat, and wrung at her apron. "Well, be ready in half an hour to go. I haven't got all day to be waiting on you both." With that Petunia left the two brothers to themselves and went to freshen herself.

"Well, that was an interesting turn of events," Hadrian mused as he rose to his feet. "Much better than I had predicted."

Charlus, tailing behind his brother as they exited the kitchen and made their way back into their shared bedroom, grumbled inaudible words under his breath – words Hadrian paid no mind to as he picked up both of their Hogwarts letters from the nightstand. It was there, while he was thumbing at the envelopes, that he became aware at problem he had not considered before hand. He cursed.

"What's wrong?" Charlus asked as he dropped down onto Hadrian's bed.

"Gringotts," Hadrian responded, as though the name of the Wizarding bank itself was enough to explain his sudden shift in moods.

"What about it?"

Hadrian made no move to elaborate on the matter to Charlus as he bit down on the pad of his thumb in thought. There, of course, were other means of accessing their family Gringotts accounts, but without the key itself Hadrian was quite certain that the old man would catch whiff of his activities and strike down on his choice of method. It was annoying, frustrating really that that old coot had his hand in everything that was supposed to be theirs. Biting down harder on his thumb, Hadrian paced before his brother, trying to come up with other means of gaining entrance into the Potter vaults without the knowledge of Dumbledore when a sharp rapping against the glass of the bedroom window drew both his and Charlus's attention toward it. A brawny barn owl hovered outside, tapping insistently against the glass in clear irritation at being made to wait for so long. It was Charlus who bounded over to unlatch the window and open it, stepping to the side to allow the ruffled messenger owl entrance into their room.

"Calm down," Charlus murmured to the irate bird, rubbing at its feathered head in a gesture to calm it as Hadrian removed the folded envelope it had been carrying. Turning the unmarked letter over in his hand, Hadrian opened it and dumped the contents into his hand. A small gold key and a quickly scrawled note. Hadrian, already knowing what the key was for, slipped it into the pocket of his trousers along side the Hogwarts First Year supply list and unfolded the note and read it.

"Of course," he said after a second, balling the note into his hand and dropping it into the rubbish bin.

"Was it from Dumbledore?" Charlus asked, still rubbing at the owl's head with a smile as the bird hooted softly in content.

"Who else," Hadrian responded with a sneer. "That man and I must have a talk about the extent of his involvement in our _well being." _

"He's only doing what's best for us," Charlus countered evenly, not wanting to rile up his brothers temper. "I'm sure he has a good reason for what he's done so far. Maybe Mum and Dad asked him to -"

"I doubt it," Hadrian said with a scoff.

"You wouldn't know," Charlus pointed out. "Mum and Dad did a lot of things we never knew about. This could be one of those things."

Hadrian, lips pressed together, slapped a hand down on the surface of the nightstand, warranting a crack that caused the owl Charlus had been petting to gave a frightened hoot and take flight from the room. Charlus, groaning in loss after it, watched as the last speck of the messenger bird vanished from sight before turning his focus back onto his brother. Their eyes met briefly and Charlus offered his brother an appeasing smile.

Hadrian curled his lips at him and pushed past him. "Let's go."

**. **

**. **

Charlus had never been to London before and he found it to not be in his favor the moment they stepped out of Petunia's car. Petunia herself, having insisted that she was due to run errands, left them a few minutes walk away from their destination spot. Charlus figured she just did not want to be seen associating with their lot as she and Vernon put it. Keeping close to his brother – or more precisely holding onto his wrist despite Hadrian still being angry with him – for he seemed to know where he was going, Charlus stared at the book shops and music shops, hamburger restaurants and cinemas they passed with little interest. London was rather noisy, he decided, and too crowded if one was to go off the herd of adults around them.

"This is it," Hadrian announced, tugging Charlus away from the swarm of people and nodding toward the building before them. "The Leaky Cauldron."

It was a tiny, grubby-looking pub that seemed to be in several stages of neglect. If Hadrian had not pointed to it, Charlus would have never guessed this was the famous place his father often talked about. Blinking owlishly at his brother, Charlus opened his mouth to question his brother if this was truly the right place when Hadrian steered him inside. For a place of fame, it was rather dark and shabby. With its very dim lighting and stale smell, Charlus was not sure what more to make of the Leaky Cauldron except he liked it as much as he liked his Muggle relatives. A few old women were sitting in a corner, drinking small glasses of sherry, and one smoking a long pipe. A little man in a top hat was talking to the old bartender, who was quite bald and looked like a toothless walrus. Much to Charlus's and Hadrian's dismay, the low chatter ceased when they walked in.

The sudden silence and stillness that enclosed the Leaky Cauldron would have remained so had the old bartender stepped over to them and peered into both of the boys faces. "Bless my soul," the old man whispered, "the Potter boys . . . what an honor." He reached out with withered hands and seized Charlus's hand – much to his shock – and said with teary eyes, "Welcome back, Mr. Potter, welcome back."

"Harry," Charlus began in a whisper to his brother, not knowing what to say to this man for everyone was now looking at him. Hadrian did not met his eye, rather instead he stepped to the side as chairs scraped against the wooden floor and those who had previously been seated surrounded his younger brother. Charlus, still in a state of shock, found himself shaking hands with everyone in the Leaky Cauldron.

"Doris Crockford, Mr. Potter, I can't believe I am meeting you at last."

"So proud, Mr. Potter, I'm just so proud."

"Delighted, Mr. Potter, I just can't tell you. Diggle's the name, Dedalus Diggle."

Charlus, still the in the midst of shaking hands repeatedly, was bemused by the praises they kept installing on him and wondering where on earth his brother could have gone off without him. As a pale young man made his way forward, very nervous and one of his eyes twitching, Charlus prepared for another round of handshakes when Hadrian reached past the throng of people and grabbed onto his arm.

"Forgive my intrusion," he drawled out, eying all those who stood before them in a circle. "But my brother and I are on a timed schedule and must get our school shopping done, so if you would please excuse us." The pale wizard, face draining of further color, stepped to the side as Hadrian moved past the group of in awed wizards and witches to where the old bartender stood. "Open the entrance wall for us."

"Harry, say please," Charlus mumbled into his brother's side, clutching onto his twin's hand tighter now; he was not going to be left to himself again if anyone else tried for a round of handshaking.

"Not necessary, Mr. Potter," the old bartender said to Charlus with a toothless grin. "This way, Mr. Potter."

"Thank you," Charlus said, offering him a smile in return though his eyes were on his brother's face. A dark look, for a second, had crossed over Hadrian's face; though it had not lingered, he had coldly shook Charlus off and walked ahead of him. Confused, and slightly hurt by his brother's behavior toward him, Charlus walked alongside the bartender. The walked through the bar and out into a small, walled courtyard where nothing stood but an old trash can a few weeds. Charlus, a few feet behind his brother, watched as the bartender took out his wand and began taping the wall three times with the point of his wand. The brick that had been touched quivered and began to move, wiggling away from its spot and opening a small hole in the middle – a whole that quickly grew wider and wider. In seconds they were facing a large archway onto a cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight.

"Welcome, to Diagon Alley," said the old bartender with a beaming smile at the look of delight on Charlus's face.

This is what Charlus had been waiting for, this very moment, the day in which he could finally come back to the place where he _really _belonged; where having magic wasn't abnormal or made him a freak. He was finally home. Unable to keep the grin off his face, Charlus walked after his brother after a quick departing wave to the bartender – who promised to reopen the passage way for them in an hour or so – and turned his head in every direction as they walked up the street, trying to take a look at everything at once: the shops, the things outside of them, and the people shopping. From the boys ogling the latest riding broomstick – a temptation Charlus had to fight off to not go over and see – to the shops that were selling robes, telescopes and other silver instruments he could place, and the windows stacked high with barrels of bat spleens and eels' eyes, tittering piles of spell books, quills, and rolls of parchments, potion books, and globes of moons. . .

"Umph!" said Charlus when he knocked into his brother's back. Stumbling back a few steps when Hadrian glared at him over his shoulder, Charlus gave him an apologetic look. Hadrian turned away from him and nodded toward the building they stood in front of. "Gringotts," Charlus said.

"Gringotts," Hadrian echoed.

The building, snow white and gleaming, towered over the other the little shops and casting a shadow that reached far and wide. Standing on guard besides it burnished bronze doors and wearing uniforms of scarlet and gold were goblins'. Charlus, though he had seen them before and knew what they looked like, still could not suppress his excitement at the sight of the strange little creatures. Walking up the white stone steps toward them, Charlus looked around his brother to the goblin closest to him. About a head shorter than Charlus himself, the creature had a swarthy, clever face, a pointed beard, and upon further inspection on his part, very long fingers and feet. The goblin bowed as Charlus and Hadrian walked inside where they now faced a second pair of doors, silver this time, with words engraved upon them.

Charlus, right after reading it, gave an uneasy laugh. "So its a pretty bad idea to steal from a goblin then," he said jokingly, hoping to get some sort of reaction out of his blank faced twin. Hadrian hmm'd in response and moved onward. Dejected that he was still being ignored, Charlus shuffled after his brother and resumed looking at whatever laid before him with less enthusiasm than before.

Inside the vast marble hall hundreds of other goblins were sitting on high stools behind a long counter, scribbling in large ledgers, weighing coins in brass scales, and examining precious stones through eyeglasses, There were many doors leading off the hall, each opening and closing many times as goblins entered and existed with people. Charlus stopped directly behind his brother as Hadrian approached the counter and spoke to the free goblin.

"I've come to speak with Ragok," Hadrian said with a flat tone, "regarding my family's vault."

"And you are?" asked the goblin, looking from Hadrian to Charlus as though unamused by the presence of two young boys.

"Hadrian Potter."

"Ah, Mr. Potter, we have been expecting you. Though," the goblin leaned forward, peering closely at Hadrian with a smirk. "Not for quite some time."

Hadrian's face remained impassive. 'Is Ragok available or not?"

"Of course, this way if you please, Mr. Potter."

Charlus, terribly confused on what was transpiring, grabbed onto the sleeve of Hadrian's shirt as he made to follow the goblin. "Whose Ragok? Why do you need to talk him? Aren't we just here to get some money for our school supplies?" he asked, brows furrowed.

Hadrian, giving a quiet sigh, pushed away Charlus's hand. "I just have some things I need to ask him," he said, "but you can go and get the money for our supplies. Here." He reached into his pocket and extracted the key, dropping it into Charlus's hand and turning to speak to the goblin escorting them. "Is there someone who can take my brother to our trust-fund vault while I speak to Ragok?"

"Yes, yes,"the goblin said, nodding his head slightly. "I have someone who can take good care of young Mr. Potter. Griphook!"

Griphook was yet another goblin who rushed over to them. After a quick exchange between the two goblins, Charlus found himself being steered in the opposite direction. With his brother gone from sight, Hadrian waved his hand for his own guide to continue leading him toward his destination. Into the back of the bank, Hadrian was led into a last room in the back and left to himself. He did not wander around as he waited, and as it would be he would have to wait for long. When the door opened for a second time, Hadrian glanced down at the goblin who had entered with smirk.

The goblins eyes narrowed as it said with a sneer on its haggard face. "I am Ragok, manager of the Old and Noble House accounts and their assets. Everything which occurs within this room and beyond is confidential between present parties."

"Spare me the run around, Ragok," Hadrian said, taking seat in the open armchair. "I don't have the luxury of spending all day here so we will have to make this quick."

Ragok looked contemplative for a moment, staring at Hadrian with a blank eyes before he spoke. "What can Gringotts do for you today, Mr. Potter?"

"I am here in regards of Potter vaults, and, in addition, to any of the assets I have access to. I will also be needing a list of all properties under my or my brothers possession, as well as the name and whereabouts of our magical guardian, as well any records of account withdrawals."

"I am afraid, Mr. Potter, that such information is not -"

"I might not have a wand, Ragok, but do not think I won't use other means of gaining what I want," Hadrian cut in with a low hiss. "I have made my demand, Ragok, see to it."

"Of course, Mr. Potter." The small goblin hopped from his chair and all but fled from the room. The door had closed behind him for a few minutes or so when Ragok came back in an armful of folders. He deposited them onto his desk, opening many as he spoke. "I have gathered the collectives of the Potter Vaults. As of now there are numerous vaults bearing the Potter insignia, many which belong to the Old and Noble House. One such vault comes from the Black Household."

"Get to the point," Hadrian said, tapping his fingers against the arm rest of the chair.

"The main vaults under the Potter name is the Fortune Vault, the Family Vault, and both you and Mr. Charlus Potter's trust-fund vault," Ragok explained, "there are addition vaults set up by Nicholas Potter for the collection of artifacts, heirlooms, and other assortment of unmentionables. These vaults are constructed so that the Ministry of Magic cannot gain access to anything they hold regardless of what laws may be passed." Ragok set several papers before him, and Hadrian picked them up with care, skimming for the contents and narrowing his eyes as the sour-faced goblin continued. "However, due to _wizarding_ laws the only accounts that you and your brother have access to at the moment is the trust-fund. As the Heir to the Potter fortune and Head of Household, you will gain access to the other vaults the day you turn fifteen, and will have full control at seventeen."

"And our magical guardian?" Hadrian inquired, lying down the papers he had been reading over.

Ragok hesitated. "Hadrian James Potter and Charlus Sirius Potter is under the care and custody of one Albus Percival Wulfic Brian Dumbledore," Ragok cleared his throat, a sneer sweeping across his face as he carried on, "Who is part of the Order of Merlin, a First Class Grand Sorcerer and Chief Warlock, and is the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederacy of Wizards."

Hadrian gave a low laugh. "That man never ceases to amaze me," he said. "Is there any way for this guardianship to be terminated?"

"It can, but the process itself is very long and complicated considering your are a minor and the many safeguards Dumbledore has taken to ensure he keeps his status as the magical guardian of both you and Mr. Charlus Potter," Ragok paused for a moment to consult the files before him. "However, rest assured that Dumbledore has no access to any addition vaults, except that of the trust-fund," once more he stopped to scan another paper before continuing in a steady voice, "I can tell you, however, that Dumbledore has been withdrawing a large sum of money from the trust-fund monthly, but to what use is unknown."

Hadrian, expression neutral, rose to his feet and tapped his finger against the surface of the dark oak desk. "I see we will have to continue this discussion of ours another time, Ragok. But, for now, I'll be needing the keepsake my mother gave to you."

"Yes, of course," Ragok murmured, pushing away the assortment of files to the side and reaching into the dark underside of his desk. There was a click of locks and, though his lips have not moved, enchantments being undone. "Here we are." What he now had in his hand was a small, velvet black box. Unclasping the lid, Ragok presented the content to the youth, watching as a light of something akin to satisfaction swept through the pit less green eyes.

Seated inside the box in a cushion of red was a ring. Made of thick black stone and engraved with the Potter crest, a blood red sat center and proud. Gingerly, Hadrian picked the ring up and moved it between his fingers, a slight smile on his face. This ring, a symbol of his position as Heir and Lord to his family's household, was finally his.

"You are satisfied then?" Ragok asked with an even look to the young man.

"Of course," Hadrian said and he slipped the ring into place on his middle finger. Though it was a size bigger than his own at first sight, the moment it touched skin it shrunk to conform to the shape of his finger. Bringing the ring to his smiling lips, Hadrian rose to his feet and turned to leave the room as he said, "Well then, Ragok, there is nothing left for us to discuss. Make my next appoint for the first of August four years from now."

"Mr. Potter, there is something else that your Mrs. Potter has left for you," Ragok commented, stopping the youth in his tracks. Hadrian turned to face the goblin, brow arched at the folded parchment he held between his long fingers. He held out a hand to the goblin, and Ragok placed it in his open palm. "I'm sure you will understand its contents."

"Hmm," Hadrian said, not thinking much of what its contents might hold till his eyes read through the first few sentences. Then his eyed hardened and the letter quivered in his hand. "Mother," he hissed out. "What have you done?"

* * *

Charlus was sick, or at least was going to become sick. After two wild cart rides to the underground vaults of Gringotts, his stomach was in a knot and his cheeks were hued green. Clambering out the cart unsteadily, Charlus bent at the waist and took a few, needed breaths to settle his stomach and racing heart. Griphook, the horrid creature, was grinning maliciously at his side. It was finally after a minutes of breathing that Charlus noticed his brother stepping back into the marble hall. Standing upright, Charlus made his way over to Hadrian, holding up the two bags full of money. "I never want to get on a ride like that again," he commented with a scowl.

"That's surprising, you used to love riding the cart with Dad whenever we came to Gringotts," Hadrian said, taking his own money bag from Charlus and putting it in his pocket. "How much did you get?"

"Two hundred Galleons each," Charlus answered. "I wasn't sure how much everything was going to cost so I just took that Griphook fellows advice. But, that aside, why did you need to talk to Ragok?"

"Just some things," Hadrian said. "We should go and get fitted for our uniforms first."

"Harry, what did you talk about with Ragok?" Charlus pressed as they left Gringotts. Once more he received no elaborate answer, much to his annoyance. Scowling at his brothers back, Charlus muttered a series of unflattering things about his brother under his breath as they entered Madam Malkin's shop.

Madam Malkin, a squat, smiling witch dressed in all mauve greeted with a, "Hogwarts, sear?" to which both Hadrian and Charlus nodded in affirmation. "I've got the lot here – come to the back and we'll have you both fitted."

In the back of the shop, a boy with a pale, pointed face, white blonde hair and pale gray eyes was standing on a footstool while a second witch pinned up his long black robes. Madam Malkin stood Charlus on a stool beside him, slipped a long black robe over his head, and began pinning it to the right size. Hadrian had, once more, vanished off somewhere with another witch.

"Hello," said the blonde boy, "Hogwarts, too?"

"Yes," Charlus said.

"My father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street looking at wands," the blonde boy said in a bored, drawling voice. "I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms later. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into buying me one and smuggle it in somehow."

"Hmm," Charlus said, no longer very interested in talking to this boy for he reminded him unsettling like Dudley.

"Do _you _have your own broom?" questioned the boy.

"No."

"Play Quidditch at all?"

"I used too," Charlus admitted, a frown crumbling his face as he remembered the many summer days he and his father had played a one-on-one game of Quidditch in the backyard.

"Well I do – father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you'll be in yet?"

"No."

"Well, no one really knows until they get there, but I _know _I will be in Slytherin, all of our families have been – imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"

"Mmmh," Charlus said, sorely wishing this boy would stop talking to him already or at least his brother would come back and take him away.

"Where are you parents, anyway?"

Charlus made no move to answer that, turning his head away to pointedly ignore the boy and the question he had asked. Thankfully, he did not have to stay for long. Madam Malkin, patting his head gently, said, "You're done, my dear," and Charlus, more than happy to not see or talk to the other boy, hopped down from his footstool.

"Well, I'll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose," said the drawling boy as Charlus left the back room.

Hadrian, having finished his fitting first, was sitting out in the waiting area with his parcels at his side. Charlus made his way over to him with a sigh, "Where did you go off to now?" he asked, dropping into the empty seat beside Hadrian.

"Nowhere," Hadrian said, "I only went to have them make extra sets of clothing for us. They should arrive by tomorrow."

"Why?"

"I have no interest in going to Hogwarts dressed in Muggle rags," Hadrian sniffed. "Anyhow, the boy you were talking to, what did he say to you?"

Charlus scowled. "Nothing really important, I would say he was mostly bragging – sounded like Dudley too. Why do you ask?"

"No reason."

"You're lying."

"I'm not," Hadrian gave a bare smile and grabbed his parcels. "Let's get a move on. We barely have an hour left and we've not nearly done."

Charlus, throwing his hands up in agitation with his brother, followed after him as they left Madam Malkin's. They made a stop at shop that sold parchments and quills, and Charlus cheered up some when he bought a bottle of color changing ink. Their next stop was was a shop called Flourish and Blotts, which Charlus did not find particularly interesting, but it was rather difficult to drag Hadrian from the dusty tombs and keep him from buying unnecessary items that was not on their supplies list. Next they both bought pewter cauldrons, a set of scales for weighing potion ingredients and a collapsible brass telescope. Then they visited the Apothecary, which was fascinating enough on its own, aside from the putrid smell of rotten cabbage and bad eggs. Once more, Charlus had to steer his brother out of a shop once they had bought their supply of basic potion ingredients.

Outside the Apothecary Hadrian checked their list again. "Well, the only thing left is a wand," he said, "unless of course you want a pet to take to Hogwarts with you."

"You don't want one?" Charlus asked, already making his way over to Eeylops Owl Emporium.

"No," said Hadrian. "Don't take long."

Twenty minutes passed before Charlus exited the shop with a large cage that held a sleeping snow white owl. Hadrian shook his head at him, to which Charlus scowled and said, "You need an owl to send messages."

"And who are you going to send a message to exactly?"

"Friends I'll make at Hogwarts, of course."

"Hmph," said Hadrian gruffly. "Just Ollivanders left now."

A magic wand, that was what Charlus had been really looking forward to. The last shop the entered was narrow and shabby, with peeling gold letters over the door reading _Ollivanders: Maker of Fine wands since 382 B.C. _A single wand laid displayed on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window. A bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as they stepped inside. It was a small place, empty except for a single, spindly chair, and thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly right up to the ceiling. The dust in silence here, Charlus noticed, was rather unnerving, as though it was holding secrets of some forgotten magic.

"Good afternoon," said a soft voice, and Charlus jumped back in surprise. An old man was standing before them, his wide, pale eyes shining like moonlight through the gloom of the shop.

"Hello," said Charlus with a wary smile.

"Ah, yes," the old man said, "I thought I would be seeing you both soon. You have your father's eyes, Mr. Potter. I remember the day he himself was in here, buying his very first wand. Elven inches, pliable, a little more power and good for transfiguration, made of mahogany." He moved over to Hadrian, who eyed him with a blank stare. "And you, have your mother's. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. A nice wand for charms.

"I am sorry to say I sold the wand that brought upon many misfortunes to this world," he said softly. "Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. A very powerful wand, very power and in the wrong hands. . .well, had I know what that wand was going to do out in the world. . ." He shook his had. "Hmm, well, now which of you will go first?"

"He will," Hadrian said, nodding to his brother.

"Well, Mr. Potter," the old man said, pulling out a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. "Which is your wand arm?"

"Er, ah – I'm right handed," answered Charlus, taking a step back and looking anywhere but the unnerving misty silvery eyes of the shop owner.

"Hold out your arm. That's it." He measured Charlus from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit, and around his head. As he measured, he said, "Every Ollivander wand has a core of powerful substance, Mr. Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And, of course, you will never get good results with another wizards wand."

The old man, Ollivander, was flitting around the shelves, taking down boxes as the tape measure continued to move around Charlus on its own. "That is enough," he said, and the tape measure fell to the floor in a heap. "Right then, Mr. Potter. Try this one. Apple wood and unicorn hair. Twelve inches. Nice and flexible. Give it a wave."

Charlus, just having took the wand and gave it a small wave, was surprised when Ollivander snatched it from his hand at once. "No, no – here, Cherry wood and phoenix feather. Eight inches. Quite whippy. Try - " Charlus tried, but he had barely raised the wand when it too was snatched from his hand. "Not quite right – here, maple and dragon heartstring, nine and a half inches, springy. Go on, give it a try."

Charlus tried, and tried, until the pile of tried wands were mounting higher and higher on the floor, and his brother was looking at him with a raised brow. Charlus, feeling a horrible sensation in the pit of his stomach, thought that he would never find a wand, but while he was feeling dejected with each tried wand, Mr. Ollivander seemed happier.

"You're quite the tricky customer. Not to worry, we'll find match here somewhere – I wonder, now – yes, why not – unusual combination – holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."

Charlus took the wand, anticipating another dunce, when he felt sudden warmth in his fingers. He raised the wand above his head, brought it down with a swish through the dusty air and a stream of red and gold sparks shot out, throwing dancing spots of light on the walls. Mr. Ollivander clapped and Charlus smiled with relief, happy to be with a wand that was meant for him at last.

"You are a very curious case, Mr. Potter," Mr. Ollivander said a he wrapped Charlus's wand back into its box. "Very curious indeed. . ."

"What do you mean by curious?" asked Charlus.

Mr. Ollivander fixed him with a pale, flat gaze. "I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr. Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather – just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother – why, when its brother was the one to set your fate.

"Yes, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember, yes. . .I think we will all except great things from you, Mr. Potter. . . After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things – terrible, yes, but great things."

Charlus, swallowing a little, gave a small nod and stepped to the side as Hadrian moved forward. "Ah, now for the other, Potter," Mr. Ollivander said, turning away to retrieve boxes as the tape measure set to work on Hadrian. Charlus, noticing the dark look in Hadrian's eyes, reached out and touched his brother's arm. Hadrian stepped away from him, jaw setting into a hard line as his eyes narrowed.

"No, no – that one will not due – not your kind at all – no, hmm. . .yes, I wonder indeed," muttered Mr. Ollivander, moving from shelf to shelf but he never removed a box from its placement. It would not be for few more minutes of murmuring to himself that he came back to the brother's with a single box in hand. He opened it, unsettling the dust that resided within and held out the wand for Hadrian. "Alder wood, Mr. Potter – Alder and Basilisk skin, thirteen inches, rigid – come, give it a try."

Hadrian took the white wand in it his hand, and his eyes widened slightly in surprise. He raised it slightly, gave a small flick, and watched a jet of violet light shot out. Charlus, already clapping for his brother, began to say, "Bravo, Harry - " when Mr. Ollivander interrupted.

"It is surprising that you would get such a wand, Mr. Potter," he said softly. "The woods of Alder are extremely rare, as many wandmakers refuse to use wood from Alder – that wand, white as it is now, will bleed red. . .very inauspicious Alder. . . but it is even more curious that is core will be that of a Basilisk skin. . ."

"And why is that curious?" asked Hadrian with narrowed eyes.

"Basilisk wands are incredibly rare, Mr. Potter, as the beasts itself is rare to begin with and hard to kill. It is due to the rarity, that they often are passed down from generation to generation, so basilisk-core wands are either the heirloom of mainly Slytherin Pureblood families or reforged wands from family cores," explained Mr. Ollivander with a dark shadow in his eyes, "This wand itself was forged from new basilisk some many years ago, but wand will almost always bond to a Parselmouth or budding Dark Wizard. Very little good comes out of wielders of basilisk wands."

"Mr. Ollivander, are you suggesting that I will become a Dark Wizard?" Hadrian asked slowly.

"No, no – I expect many great things for you, Mr. Potter, many great things indeed. . . ."

Charlus looked between his brother and Mr. Ollivander, brows knitted. He wasn't sure if he liked Mr. Ollivander, but hearing what he said made him feel a sliver of unease. His brother wouldn't be a Dark Wizard, he was certain of, but, still. . .

"Good day, Mr. Ollivander," Hadrian said, paying the man twenty Galleons for both their wands. Charlus, snapping out of his, nodded his head in farewell to Mr. Ollivander and left the shop after his brother.

**.**

**.**

Petunia was waiting for them at the spot she had dropped them off, and just as the ride to the Leaky Cauldron had been silent, the return ride was quiet and wary. Charlus, unable to stop himself, frequently looked at his brother, trying to gauge Hadrian's emotions but there was little to work on. Back home, they both made their way upstairs with their packages, locked their bedroom door and sat in a thick silence.

Charlus, unable to stand it any longer, asked, "Are you mad at me?"

Hadrian looked at him with fathomless eyes. "Why would I be angry with you?"

"Because you've been acting strange all day," Charlus said, "ever since we came into the Leaky Cauldron you've been acting like I've done something to upset you and I want to know why. Just like I want to know what you were talking with Ragok about. I'm not some little kid anymore, Harry. You can't just keep leaving me in the dark about everything."

"Charlus," Hadrian said, "I haven't been leaving you out the loop of anything out of spite. I just don't want you involved. You've already got enough to deal with being the Boy-Who-Lived and all."

"Is that it? Is that the reason why you're angry? Because everyone thinks I'm special for doing something I don't even remember doing?"

"I'm not angry at you, Charlus."

Charlus stared at his brother, lips parted and cheeks burned red with anger. "You always do this," he snapped. "You always act like you have to do everything on your own – that you have to look after me all the time when you don't! Why can't you just tell me what's going on through your mind for once? You stupid prick!" With that Charlus stomped out the room, slamming the door behind him with a jarring force.

Hadrian listened to his pounding steps down the stairs and the front door opening and closing violently. Dropping his head onto his open palm, Hadrian frowned and looked down at his lap. There was a soft hoot and rustle of feather, drawing Hadrian's attention to the snow white bird that was looking at him with sharp amber eyes. "You can't judge you stupid bird," he said. "I'm only doing what's right."


End file.
